


What Child is This?

by AlyKat



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Feels, De-Aged Clint Barton, Kid Clint Barton, Kid Fic, M/M, Protective Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How does a man who prides himself on having impeccable eyesight, never see the ray-gun until it’s too late?”</p>
<p>Phil Coulson wished he had the answer to that question as he clutched the three year old Clint Barton closer to his chest. Somehow, this was not how he'd planned for his Christmas to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Child is This?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ralkana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/gifts).



> This was originally started as a "Hope You Feel Better Soon!" fic for [Ralkana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana), but when the plot bunny (...uh, I use that term very, very loosely) started to grow on me, it became a "Hopefully A Merry Christmas!" fic, instead. 
> 
> And it IS! I finished it in time!! YAAAAAAAAY!! 
> 
> I apologize that it's unbeta'd, any minor mistakes you find are mine. ...any major mistakes you find...you didn't find. Leave me to my delusions that there's no major mistakes to be had here. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS ALL!!

Phil knew exactly who it was the moment he laid eyes on him. Huddled up and hiding inside the giant black and burgundy tac suit jacket, the pants and boots under him, and what remained of his quiver, arrows, and bow scattered around him. The quiver in pieces, a few of the arrows broken in halves, and the bow, well, the bow maybe Stark could fix for him. Still, there was no mistaking the bright blue eyes that were staring wide and terrified out from under shaggy blond bangs.

Why was it always Clint who got hit with the mad scientist’s ray-gun?

With a few cautious steps to come up in front of the pile of clothes and debris, Phil knelt down and gave a soft, friendly smile.

“Hello, Clint,” He said softly, his gun out of sight and his comm pulled from his ear – both to ignore the noise on the other end, and to look less strange to the little boy. “My name’s Phil. Do you know where you are?”

Clint shook his head, eyes wide as saucers and bottom lip tucked tight between his teeth.

Phil’s smile turned sad as he held his hand out for him. “Okay. That’s okay,” the shirt was moved carefully, and Phil paused to tug his own dust covered jacket off, “I’m a friend, I’m here to take care of you. Here, why don’t we wrap you up in my jacket and we’ll go find somewhere to warm up and get you a cup of hot chocolate. Does that sound good?”

For a moment, Clint didn’t move. He just stayed huddled in the leather and Kevlar that surrounded him, eyeing Phil warily, as if he expected a swift smack to the face at any moment. Finally, just when Phil thought he’d need to try a different approach, Clint stood, shivering bare against the cold December air. Quickly, Phil wrapped his warm down jacket around his little shoulders and carefully picked him up, watching as the tac suit jacket fell away completely.

Clint clung to Phil loosely, head turning every which way and his eyes scanning the crowds of people. Phil had known Clint long enough, knew of his history and past and what kind of an abusive childhood he’d had living in his parent’s home, but to see this little boy – not much more than three, at the most! – look so cautious, so suspicious of him, it made him want to travel back in time and beat Harold Barton himself. See how  _he_ liked being hit and punched.

Back at the SHIELD SUV, Phil carefully settled himself on the back bumper, Clint still in his arms but feet firmly planted on Phil’s thighs so he could stay standing and on guard. Ever watchful.

The first to arrive for check-in was Natasha. She and Clint stared at each other through narrowed eyes for a moment before Clint’s hold on Phil’s suit jacket loosened just a bit and he looked away, seemingly having lost interest in the red-head already.

“How does a man who prides himself on having impeccable eyesight, never see the ray-gun until it’s too late?” Huffed Natasha as she pulled a hand warmer from her pocket, broke it, and tucked it into her sleeve. Just because she was Russian, didn’t mean she had a tolerance for – or love of—the cold.

With a shrug and half huff of laughter, Phil shook his head and turned his attention to Cap and Thor as the pair stepped forward – neither seeming overly concerned about the cold. Even if Steve’s features were a bit pinched. Though, given the way he seemed to be favoring his left side, an injury could have been the reason, too.

Clint’s head spun back around as the two came to stand next to Natasha, and he once again narrowed his eyes at them in scrutiny. Phil noticed the way Clint’s hand tightened on his jacket again, and he seemed to lean into his chest a bit more as Steve and Thor looked at each other, and then back at Phil and Clint.

Steve broke the stare-down first, blinking and turning his attention to Phil curiously. “Barton?”

Phil nodded, not realizing that he’d tightened his hold on Clint until the little boy squirmed and shoved his fists against Phil’s chest trying to put space between them a little bit. “Yes. I found him surrounded by what was left of his equipment,” Phil’s voice was tight, stern.

He watched as Steve straightened up just a bit, jaw squared and set. Steve had been right there when the building Clint had been perched on got clipped by Hulk. The mortar crumbling and slipping out from under Clint at the same moment the Villain of the Week had spun and turned his fucking ray gun and fired – undoubtedly trying to hit Hulk, but getting Clint instead. Phil had watched it happen. Had seen Steve turn his attention away instead of trying to stop the man. No matter what reasons Steve might have had, they would never be good enough. Clint could have been killed. How bricks had managed to miss his little body, Phil didn’t know. He was just glad that they had.

Clint still wrapped secure in the jacket, cradled in Phil’s arms, Phil pushed himself off the bumper and looked at the three Avengers standing before him before looking back down to Clint, silently judging and assessing what kind of shape the little boy was in.

“I’m taking him to SHIELD medical to be checked over. Make sure Stark picks up the jacket for Banner.”

Natasha took a step to follow him, only to draw up short when Phil shook his head.

“No. Stay here. Help with the clean-up and taking statements from any witnesses that might still be around. I’ll be in touch.”

It was obvious by the look he was getting that Natasha didn’t like the orders she’d been issued, but then, Phil knew she wouldn’t. With one final nod, Phil turned, slipped into the backseat of the SUV he’d been leaning against and held Clint close as the car pulled away from the scene.

~*~*~*~*~

“Director, I have plenty of vacation time saved up, I’m saying that I plan to use at least a few weeks-worth of it so that I can take care of –“

“Of an agent who was magically de-aged into a three-year-old,” Nick Fury leaned forward on his desk, hands folded in front of him as he stared Phil down, face closed off of any emotions.

Phil, his shoulders squared and chin tilted up minutely, gave a curt nod. “Yes sir. Though, his age is only an estimate at this point.”

Fury continued to glare across at Phil in a silent, calculating and judging fashion. Phil didn’t so much as flinch or shift uneasily. He and Nick had known each other since Phil was eighteen, when Nick recruited him into SHIELD right out of high school. Lifetimes ago.

Whatever Fury had been looking for, he must not have found (…or maybe he did find. Just because they’d known each other over half of Phil’s life, didn’t make him an expert on the man!), and he sat back with a huff. His arms folded across his chest as he shook his head and glanced around.

“Where is Agent Barton, now?”

“Medical,” Phil answered, his stance falling into a more relaxed posture. “I left him with Jimenez, she’s good with kids. And with Clint. I said I’d be back down as soon as I –“

“Director Fury!” A frantic call came in, buzzing from the call box on his desk.

Fury quirked a brow and leaned forward. “What is it?”

“Sir, he’s gone. We don’t know where he went!”

“ _Who’s_ gone?”

There was silence for a moment before a cough of a cleared throat came through. “Agent Barton, Sir.”

Phil swore under his breath and turned to rush out the door, not bothering to wait for Fury’s answer to that. He tore off down the hall, almost too impatient for the elevator, and by the time he reached the Medical Division, nurses and doctors were looking everywhere. Some on their hands and knees looking under tables, beds, and desks, others pulling down vent grates to check to see if he’d somehow managed to get up that high.

Nurse Jimenez found Phil first, and caught him by the arm.

“Agent Coulson, I’m so sorry. We –“

“What happened?” Phil gently pulled from her grasp and moved down the hall, glancing into each room quickly.

“I passed him off to Sanders to draw a blood sample – Doctor Rockton needed my help. I’m not sure what Sanders did but, Clint apparently bit his arm, kicked Doctor Nicoles in his bad knee, and ran.”

Phil looked back at Jimenez, his expression a cross between surprised and impressed. At least, until he saw his jacket hanging from her hand. He took it from her, looked it over, and sighed. Somewhere in Medical, there was a toddler Clint Barton, hiding and naked. A heavy sigh escaped him as he turned to look back around the hallway, watching as an intern wobbled on the shoulders of a friend trying to look into a vent.

“Call off the hounds,” said Phil, moving to start peeking into closets. “I’ll find him and bring him back.”

Jimenez nodded. “Yes sir.”

Once upon a time, during a mission that had gone pear shaped and left Phil and Clint stranded without an extraction for thirty-two hours, Clint had shared with him the story of how when he was young, he and Barney would try to hide in closets when their dad was on a rampage. Given the way the little boy had clung so tightly to him when Thor and Captain Rogers approached earlier, Phil had a pretty good idea that a closet would be the place Clint would run to.

He stopped as he neared the second to last closed door, hearing a clamor inside. With only a moment’s pause, he opened the door and stuck his head in. Nothing out of place on the floor, no one hiding behind the mop and bucket. Higher up, though, cleaning solvent bottles and extra boxes of scrub pads were knocked down. On the top shelf, ten little toes could be seen just poking over the edge.

Phil smiled in spite of the situation. The door closed partway behind him as he stepped in, jacket in hand, and looked up.

“Clint?” He asked softly, keeping all worry or anger out of his voice. The last thing he wanted was to scare him anymore than he already was.

Clint whimpered quietly, toes curled into the edge of the shelf.

“Clint, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get frightened. You aren’t in any kind of trouble, okay? You did exactly what you thought you needed to do. I’m not angry with you,” Phil cautiously reached up, brushing his finger lightly over the little toes, a grin having to be bitten back as they curled all the more and tried to disappear over the top.

The closet wasn’t very big, but there was enough space for Phil to turn a bucket over, slide a box of scrubbers between the door and the frame to prop it open, and step up onto the bucket. It put him just about eye level with Clint.

Clint was sitting with his back to the wall, legs pulled up tight against his chest and arms clutched around him, his face buried in his knees. It broke Phil’s heart. Phil extended his hand, resting it on Clint’s arm gently. It got Clint to raise his head, at least, and Phil’s soft, pleasant – but genuine – smile returned to his face.

“Hey you,” Phil murmured, reaching up to brush Clint’s bangs from his eyes. “Isn’t it getting kind of cold up there?”

Clint’s bottom lip trembled, but he didn’t say a word in reply.

“Wanna come back with me and put the jacket back on so you stay warm?”

Again, silence. At least for a moment, before Clint carefully uncurled himself and inched forward.

Jacket tucked under his arm for the time being, Phil used both hands to tuck under Clint’s arms and help pull him down from the shelf. He kept him cuddled close, cheek resting on the soft dark blond hair, before wrapping the jacket back around him.

“Thank you,” Phil smoothed his hand down Clint’s back once before taking a cautious step down off the bucket.

He braced his shoulder against the door, kicked the box back in, and stepped out. Those who had been looking for Clint, stopped when they caught sight of one of the most famous agents holding the little boy so close and secure. Like it was second nature. Which in a way, it maybe was a little bit. Phil had a couple of close cousins whose kid’s he’d adopted as nieces and nephews that he’d spent time with. Plus, there’d been a number of times he’d had to hold Clint in order to keep him alive.

The pair stepped back into the exam room, Phil not so much as casting Sanders or Nicoles a look as he settled himself down on the table and kept Clint in his arms. He pulled back just enough for Clint to see him smile.

“I’m sorry I left you alone, before,” He apologized, again, “I’m not going to this time, okay? I’m going to stay right here.”

As he spoke, Phil carefully pulled Clint’s right arm out from the coat and positioned it just enough for Nicoles to draw blood quickly. While Phil distracted Clint and kept his attention forward.

“I’m going to stay right here, and tell you a story. Sound good?”

Clint eyed him for a moment, a slight pout on his face as he tried to wiggle out of the grasp before finally giving up. He nodded slowly.

Phil smiled more and set in on the tale of a beautiful princess who fell in love with a farmboy, and how their love was tested by time, distance, and mishap.  _The Princess Bride_ had been one of Phil’s favorite movies, not Clint’s, but Phil wasn’t sure he could do the _Star Wars_ saga justice enough to tell it as a story.

“All done,” Nicoles finally announced quietly, a grateful smile on his face as he nodded to Phil.

Clint turned his attention from Phil to Doctor Nicoles, then to the bright purple bandage on his arm. His pout intensified and Phil had to fight to keep from laughing. Clint looked so betrayed, but in an adorable way only a three-year-old could pull off.

With a ‘thank you’ to Doctor Nicoles, Phil carefully tucked Clint’s little pudgy arm back into the jacket and stood.

“There, that wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

The stern frown and huff was the only answer he got before Clint head-butted right into Phil’s sternum. A puff of air rushed from his lungs at that and Phil just tightened his hold on Clint that much more. Clint was little, he’d forget all about it in a little while, Phil was sure of it.

~*~*~*~*~

By the time the pair made it back to the apartment – not Avengers Tower – Clint still had refused to speak, or make eye contact with Phil.

Okay, so, young Clint held a grudge better than adult Clint did.

Good to know.

A package had been waiting outside the apartment door when they’d gotten there; a note attached in Fury’s handwriting: _Don’t say I never did anything nice._ Inside was one pair of toddler sized clothes, shoes and socks included, and a package of Avengers themed Pull-Ups. Where or how Fury had figured out what size to get for Clint, Phil didn’t know. Didn’t bother to dwell on the thought. He scooped the clothes up and settled Clint down on the couch, doing his best to wrangle a squirmy little body into them.

“C’mon, Clint. How ‘bout just the Pull-Ups and the T-shirt?” It wasn’t usually in Phil’s nature to negotiate. He was a SHIELD agent after all. SHIELD didn’t negotiate.

Of course, when it came to Clint, those “no negotiation” rules became more like guidelines.

Once again, Clint’s bottom lip protruded out and he folded his arms over his chest fiercely. The bright purple Bandaid directly in sight, as if to say, ‘No! You tricked me!’

With a sigh and head shake, Phil glanced at the thermostat. He could up the heat a little bit if need be. He set the T-shirt aside and held the Pull-Ups out.

“Alright,” His no-nonsense mask of Agent slipping back into place, “No T-shirt. But you _have_ to wear these.”

Clint didn’t shake his head or say no, but he didn’t exactly make it easy for Phil to get the diaper on him either. Legs flailing and hips wiggling, Phil nearly caught a heel to the chin a couple of times before he got Clint on his feet on the couch, and the Pull-Up around his waist. Clint stood wobbling on the cushion for a moment while Phil did an inspection to make sure it was on right and wasn’t going anywhere, before he set Clint back down and moved to sit across from him on the coffee table.

“Tomorrow we’ll go get you a couple more pairs of clothes, and some pajamas,” Phil decided, nodding once to himself. “Tonight though, how about I fix us up some cereal for supper and we just watch some TV.”

Slowly, the pout turned softer, Clint’s little bottom lip tucked back between his teeth almost shyly as he nodded silently. Little arms reached out for Phil and, just for the night, Phil decided carrying him everywhere wouldn’t hurt anything. He scooped Clint back up into his arms, flashed him a quick grin and made their way for the kitchen for cereal.

~*~*~*~*~

When Clint became a heavy weight in Phil’s arms, his breathing even and mouth parted, just the tiniest trail of drool rolling down his cheek and onto Phil’s shirt, Phil turned the TV off and carried Clint carefully to the bedroom. It was easier to slip him into an oversized T-shirt while he was asleep. Clint whimpered softly and curled up on himself just briefly before settling and snuggling into the pillows and blankets.

Phil couldn’t help the smile slowly edging across his face as he changed into pajamas of his own and crawled under the covers. His arm rested gently but securely over Clint’s little body, pulling him in to hold as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

A week before Christmas was not exactly the ideal time to be taking a cautious three-year-old shopping for new clothes. Especially not a cautious and rather cranky one at that. Clint was behaving though, for the most part. As well as could be expected when he was being jostled around in Phil’s arms – Clint had broken his hold and taken off running when they stepped out of the apartment building, Phil refused to put him back on the ground since – and forced into clothes he really didn’t want to wear. There were only a few instances where Phil had to apologize to someone for Clint wordless cry and shove when they’d gotten to close, or had to use the stern, no-nonsense Agent Coulson tone in order to get Clint to straighten up.

By the end of the day, Phil’s back and arms were killing him from having to carry Clint everywhere, along with the bags of clothes – a pair of Ninja Turtle footed-pajamas, a 3-piece purple set with yellow construction tractors all over the pants, a Ninja Turtle fleece robe, a few little purple T-shirts, two more pairs of jeans, some socks, another package of Pull-Ups, and a nice warm puffy coat of his own – and, after Clint fell asleep in his arms on the subway, the stuffed Golden Retriever toy Clint had become attached to at the last store.

More than a few women commented on what an adorable little boy he had, or just sat and smiled wistfully as they watched Phil rearrange things on the subway to make sure they took up as little space as possible, and doing it without waking Clint. Phil ignored them for the most part. He would give his polite little smiles, a slight head nod, and turn his attention back to Clint. Let them look, whisper to each other, sigh dreamily at the fact a man was holding a sleeping toddler in his arms and being all fatherly. He wasn’t going to give even a hint of an impression that they’d stand a chance with him.

His heart belonged to someone else. It had for a very long time.

~*~*~*~*~

Finding Pepper Potts and Natasha sitting on his couch when they got home wasn’t at all a surprise to Phil. In fact, he _was_ surprised by the fact neither had turned up at his door the night before demanding to see Clint. He was glad they hadn’t.

His keys tossed into the bowl next to the door and shoes carefully toed off to the other side, Phil made his way into the room and gave a nod of hello. Pepper quickly stood when Phil moved to step past them, cooing quietly at Clint all nestled up and his nose buried in the crook of Phil’s neck. Phil made a motion to be quiet and that he’d be right back before he disappeared into the bedroom.

A few little noises escaped Clint as he was worked out of his coat and positioned at the pillows, but didn’t wake. Phil left the bags under the window near the dresser and, keeping the door cracked a little, slipped back out to the living room.

Natasha and Pepper both were sitting on the couch again, quietly talking between themselves when Phil came back into the room. They stood when he got closer, Natasha’s arms crossed over her chest as she looked him over. His well-worn, brown leather jacket was off, hanging on the hook behind his bedroom door, leaving him in his soft grey sweater and faded out old blue jeans. It wasn’t a look many people were privy to seeing, at least not outside of missions that required a more laid-back appearance.

The three stood in the middle of the room for a moment, just staring at each other silently, before the spell was broken, Pepper and Natasha both bombarding Phil at the same time.

“Phil, he’s absolutely precious!”

“You said you’d keep us posted. You didn’t even tell us you’d taken him off SHIELD property –“

“—I can help with anything you might need. Just let me know if there’s anything I can –“

“—Why is he staying with you and not with us at the Tower?”

Phil held his hands up, leveled Natasha firm stare before he finally took a breath to answer Pepper first, approaching the whole situation like a mission briefing.

“Thank you, Pepper, but that won’t be necessary. The only thing I might be needing are some groceries. Child friendly foods. As much as I’m sure he wouldn’t mind it, three square meals of cereal wouldn’t be good for him. The rest, I’ve taken care of already. Thank you.”

Pepper bit back a smile before quickly schooling her features and nodded, already with phone in hand. “I’ll have our service bring you some groceries. Chicken nuggets, fish sticks, little things like that for him. He’ll love ‘em.”

Phil nodded, his attention turning to Natasha.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was bringing him here. I have plenty of built up vacation time, I figured I’d use it until this wore off. I do have cousins with kids, you know. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of a child.” Phil glanced back over his shoulder at the bedroom and then back at Natasha. “Besides, you know Clint’s history as well as I do. Would you really subject him to staying in a tower with an egotistical genius who is still trying to get a grip on his drinking habits?”

Natasha squared her shoulders, but shook her head. “No. I couldn’t.”

Understandably so. With the way Clint had panicked at Medical, Phil couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of trauma young Clint would suffer being in a strange place, with unfamiliar faces all around, and two men whose concept of inside voices and appropriate amounts of alcohol sometimes eluded them.

Phil folded his arms over his as he gave another curt nod. “Me neither. I appreciate both of your concerns, but I’m fine with him. He has his moments, just like he did as an adult, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Pepper, her phone back in her pocket, lifted her eyes to give Phil the once over as a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You can handle him for now,” She stated, voice soft and patient, “But what about if whatever happened to him doesn’t wear off?”

Dread settled heavy and cold in the pit of Phil’s stomach. It was something he didn’t want to think about, at all, yet he knew he had to. He had to be prepared for the worst, should it happen. Obviously, it would be too risky to put Clint into foster care if it was seeming like he’d end up reliving his childhood – they couldn’t risk him being adopted and then out of the blue becoming an adult again! There was always the option of letting him become a ward to SHIELD, grow up within the confines of a cold bureaucratic agency, but that was no way for Clint to grow up. It’d be better than his first childhood, sure, but it still wouldn’t have been any way for him. He needed stability. A warm home and a comfortable bed. Someone to take care of him, read to him, teach him things.

“I’ll retire,” The answer was that simple.

Phil turned his attention back to Natasha and Pepper, not so much as blinking at Pepper’s look of surprise nor Natasha’s narrowed, calculating gaze.

“I’ll take early retirement, sign on as a consultant, and take care of him.” It wasn’t by any means ideal, but, well, Phil was prepared to do it if need be.

The soft sound of fabric rustling in the bedroom drew Phil’s gaze back behind him again. When he was sure Clint wasn’t going to come shuffling out, he took a breath and cast both of his friends a small smile. “He’s worn out,” Phil explained, “and I should really try to get things put away before he wakes up and starts getting into things. I promise, I’ll keep you both updated.”

Natasha watched him carefully for another moment before she gave a sharp, short nod, her posture relaxing and softening while Pepper stepped forward to envelope Phil in a hug.

“Call us if there’s anything we can do to help out,” She whispered, pulling back to give his arms a gentle squeeze before letting go.

Phil’s own smile was small, humoring, but it was enough to make his eyes crinkle in the corners and the bright grey color to brighten just a bit at the offer.

“I will,” He promised as he moved to open the door for them.

“You know,” Natasha started, drawing up short as she stepped out into the hall and paused to turn back to look Phil over. “Going soft and paternal is a good look for you. You should try it more seriously sometime.”

There was a glint to her eyes and something about the way her smirk quirked up on one side that made Phil want to shift uneasily in place. He didn’t, of course. Years of practice taught him how to control such a rookie response. Still, there was something behind the look that made his stomach twist and heart speed up.

The Agent façade back in place, Phil’s smile turned polite and mildly amused. “Good night, Natasha.” He said, quietly closing the door and locking it behind them.

Letting his head come to rest against the door, Phil took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly before setting about to put the new clothes away and to get some apples cut up for a post-nap-pre-supper snack.

~*~*~*~*~

It took a couple of days for Clint to finally get truly comfortable around Phil. The fact that Phil was patient with him, didn’t yell or threaten him, and certainly never laid a harsh hand on him, helped.

Phil noticed it three days after Clint had come to live with him. He’d left Clint in the living room watching Toon Disney, while Phil had gone into the kitchen to start making supper for them. Nothing real fancy, just some spaghetti and toast (he hadn’t thought about getting some proper garlic bread). He was at the stove, just setting the pan of water down to boil when he caught a pair of wide, watchful eyes, staring at him from under shaggy blond bangs and around the corner of the archway.

He’d smiled, pretending he hadn’t noticed and just went about getting things ready. When he looked again, Clint was at his side, hands clutching the handle of the oven door, trying to pull himself up to look at what was happening.

“Careful,” Phil scooped Clint up around the waist, turned, and set him down a few feet away. “If the door came down all of the sudden, you could have gotten hurt.”

Clint bit at his bottom lip for a moment, but, as always, stayed silent.

It reminded Phil of when he’d first met Clint. When the man had been barely twenty. Watchful, silent, suspicious of anyone and everyone. It’d taken Phil a month just to get Clint to finally start speaking to him in full sentences; not just concise two syllable responses. If it took a month of more for the de-aged Clint to decide to start talking to him, then Phil was fine with that.

Phil was more than okay doing the talking for both of them. For some reason, it seemed to entertain Clint, him doing most of the talking. While making supper, Phil told Clint about his own childhood growing up in Chicago. Phil carefully added diced onions to the pan of heated olive oil, while telling of the times he would run around the neighborhood with a metal trashcan lid, pretending to be Captain America. Next came the minced – from a bottle, he didn’t have any fresh – and the story of how he’d saved his younger cousin from bullies at the beach one summer. As those ingredients browned, Phil turned the heat up under the water and began breaking dry spaghetti to dump in when the time was right. He tossed in tomatoes and tomato paste, a few spices to taste, and moved it to the back burner to simmer, explaining to Clint that it may not be the best spaghetti sauce in the world, but it would do for the night.

The water in the pan began to occasionally bubble, steam rising from it, a sign that it was nearly ready to toss the pasta in.

With a glance over his shoulder to see Clint still sitting at the table, Phil grinned and dropped four slices of bread into the toaster. He’d seen the way even this little three-year-old version of Clint had put away a good portion of the loaf of bread he’d had the day before, and he knew for a fact just how many pieces the adult version would eat with spaghetti. Finishing off the last six slices in the bag wasn’t going to go to waste.

As the water finally began to boil in earnest, Phil looked back to the stove and had just reached across to adjust the burner temperature when he heard a _thunk thunk_ behind him. He turned, his eyes going wide as he watched Clint pulling himself up onto the counter, his arm dangerously close to the hot metal on the toast as he reached for the cabinet above his head.

A rush of panic went through Phil at the thought of Clint slipping and falling, or burning himself on the toaster. He spun quickly to stop Clint from getting any farther, only to have his hand catch the far handle of the pasta pan and knock it off the burner. Boiling water splattered through the air, splashing across Phil’s arm and spilling across the floor as Phil jumped back to avoid further burns. The swears of pain and frustration left his mouth so quickly that he hadn’t even realized he’d done it until he saw the panic cross Clint’s young face.

In an instant, Clint was down off the counter top, landing his sock covered feet right in the middle of the water on the floor.

“Clint! That’s hot! Don’t –“

Clint tore off out of the kitchen and disappeared around the corner like a flash.

Phil swore under his breath as he quickly turned the burners off and went running after him. There were only two places he could think of that Clint would hide, and he was pretty sure the hall closet was locked. Spare weapons and ammo were in there, he didn’t want Clint to stumble upon them and have anything happen.

He ducked into his bedroom, where he heard the rustling of clothes and boxes being shoved around in the closet. With a heavy sigh, Phil tugged his sweatshirt off, a streak of red across his arm from where the water had hit, and straightened his T-shirt as he moved to open the closet door.

“Clint, I’m sorry. You just…” He paused, took a breath and shook his head. “I got scared. You looked like you were going to get yourself burnt on the toaster, I didn’t want to see that happen. I wasn’t swearing at you. I promise.”

Above his head, Clint snuffled and nudged a Captain America Collector’s Edition Commemorative doll – new in box – more towards him, trying to hide behind it as best he could.

Phil reached up and moved the box away slowly.

“Please come down from there. That shelf isn’t very sturdy.”

Again, only a snuffle came back in reply.

Phil sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Alright,” he nodded, turning to sit on the floor under his suits. “Alright. You sit up there, I’m going to sit right down here until you’re ready to come down. And I’ll apologize a hundred and one times, if I have to.”

Not more than a minute passed before Phil heard the box slide back across the shelf above him. He looked up, watching as one foot moved into sight and onto the edge of the shelf below, followed by the other.

He moved to stand, his hands outstretched to help keep Clint steady as he stubbornly struggled to climb down on his own. Once Clint was within better reach, Phil pulled him in close, relief washing over him when Clint wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face in his shoulder. He could feel tears dampening his T-Shirt, the soft, struggled breaths as Clint clutched him tight.

Another sigh at his own stupidity escaped Phil as he carried Clint to the bathroom. He set him carefully on the edge of the sink and pulled the soaked socks off his feet – the bottoms of which just as red as the streak on his arm. The bottle of Aloe Vera was on a shelf above the toilet and within easy reach.

“Stay right here,” He murmured, pulling away just enough to grab the bottle and uncap it. It was cold in the palm of his hand and he rubbed it around with his index and middle fingers to warm it a bit before rubbing it into the soles and toes of Clint’s little feet.

Feet taken care of – and a little bit of Aloe rubbed onto his arm – Phil wrapped Clint back up in his arms and curried him into the living room to sit and cuddle on the couch. Toon Disney was still on, playing reruns of Chip ‘N’ Dale’s Rescue Rangers. Phil wasn’t sure he’d ever really seen the show, but Clint seemed to be instantly distracted by it, so it couldn’t have been too bad.

They sat and watched the show (which, Phil noted, really was pretty cute in that goofy 90’s kid cartoons kind of way), and slowly Clint’s grip on Phil’s shirt loosened. He relaxed around Phil again, to the point of slipping off his lap and moving to lay on the floor in front of the TV. His feet kicking in the air behind him, and head propped on his hands, eyes glued to the show.

Phil took the distraction for what it was and quietly slipped back off to the kitchen to clean up the mess that was made and restart supper. He made a mental note to watch his language a bit more carefully in the future.

~*~*~*~*~

The night before Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday that year. It also marked the sixth day of Clint being three-years-old again. Rain kept falling, instead of snow, and the weatherman kept saying the chances of getting a white Christmas were pretty slim. Even if a new storm system was starting to form in the south and make its way north.

Phil held out hope though.

Neither he nor Clint were real fond of the snow and ice and bitter cold (they’d both grown up in the Midwest, they knew how fun winter…wasn’t), still, it never ceased to bring warmth to his heart seeing the way Clint’s face would light up when snow on Christmas happened. Phil wondered if the same thing would happen to the toddler if it started snowing.

Together, with Phil’s favorite Pandora Radio Christmas station blasting from the speaker of his TV, the pair decorated the apartment in red and green paper chains, popcorn garland, and brightly colored lights. Phil helped Clint to make pictures of snowmen and Christmas trees using painted hand prints on paper as templets. Around three in the afternoon, Natasha had arrived, a couple of wrapped presents in her arms to set under the tree; one addressed to Phil, the other to Clint.

“I have another at home for him, in case he goes back to normal,” She explained.

With new help there, Phil and Clint and Natasha all set about to trim the tree. A long standing tradition among the trio that not even the inconvenience of de-aging could break.

By the time they had finished, the apartment looked every bit like a stereotypical Christmas card.

Phil checked his watch quickly when Natasha pulled Clint off to the kitchen to make cookies, and Phil had laughed when he heard her mutter “Maybe if we teach him now, when he changes back, he won’t be so hopeless making sugar cookies.” He knew Clint would be fine and perfectly safe in Natasha’s care, still, he shot off a text to her quickly, letting her know he was just slipping out for a few a little while.

With everything that had been happening in the weeks leading up to Christmas, Phil hadn’t had a chance to go and get anything for Clint (grown or otherwise) or Natasha. It was stupid and suicide to try and brave any kind of shopping center that close to Christmas, but he was out of options.

In the end, he’d grabbed up what was left of the stocking stuffer candies (some nougat mint things that both Clint and Natasha went through each year like they were nothing, a package of grape and orange soda flavored candy canes, a bunch of chocolate coins, and a package of Santa Peeps for each of them), and made short work going through the toy aisle, finding interesting – but educational – toys for Clint. He even picked up a new bottle of the aftershave Clint liked to wear generally, just in case. A bottle of wine and a new cookbook, he grabbed for Natasha. It was a little known fact that Natasha was kind of just as big of a foodie as Jasper Sitwell was. Phil knew she’d love to use the others (and him) as test subjects for new recipes.

By the time he got back to the apartment, all was dark and quiet, save for the twinkling lights from the tree and gentle instrumental Christmas music. Natasha was curled in the corner of the couch like a lithe cat, absently flipping through a book while Clint slept soundly in the curve of her body. He really was adorable when he slept, and Natasha – as much as she refused to admit it – was good with kids and looked natural taking care of young ones.

Quietly making his way into the room, he set the bags down behind the couch. “He’s out like a light?” He asked, coming around to pick Clint up.

“Mm,” hummed Natasha. “I gave him a sip of vodka and some NyQuil and he passed right out.”

Phil’s face paled until he saw the amused tug of her mouth and the joke clicked in his head.

“Wasn’t that how you got him to go to sleep during that Boksburg Op?”

Looking up, a rather playful but sadistic glimmer sparkled in her eyes as she smiled up at Phil in mock innocence. “That was purely by accident,” She protested. “How was I supposed to know he’d already downed some NyQuil when I’d offered him the drink? He should have known not to mix the two.”

Phil gave a quiet laugh as he nodded and started for the bedroom.

“He wore himself out doing decorations and cookies,” Natasha finally called after him.

When Phil stepped out of the bedroom a moment later, his hands in his pockets, he nodded. “I kind of figured as much. It was a lot of excitement for him tonight. He should be down for the rest of the night. Thank you.”

Natasha was already standing at the door, her coat pulled tight around her, looking more like a 1950’s socialite than a dangerous, deadly spy and superhero. As she pulled her gloves on, she lifted her eyes to meet Phil’s and nodded.

“You’re welcome. You’re taking very good care of him. I think,” She turned, reaching to open the door and glanced back over her shoulder, “If he were to stay young and have to be raised all over again, I wouldn’t be the only one to support your decision to retire. But I wonder if after he changes back, if you’d be just as willing.”

Phil, for once, let his confusion show on his face as he stepped up beside her. “If he’s changed back though, I wouldn’t need to retire.”

“I wonder if you would, though. There’s a lot of little lost and lonely kids out there, Coulson. Any of them would be lucky to have someone like you in their lives.”

Again, a heavy, cold weight settled in the pit of Phil’s stomach. Giving up SHIELD to take care of and raise Clint right was one thing. Clint was a special circumstance. Phil wasn’t sure he could ever imagine giving up SHIELD for anyone else. He’d long ago given up having the kind of life that involved kids.

It wasn’t until the door was closed that Phil even noticed Natasha had slipped out and was gone. That had been the second time she’d alluded to the idea that Phil would make a great father for a child – adopted or otherwise – and once again it settled an uneasy twist inside him.

~*~*~*~*~

The next night, being Christmas Eve, Phil and Clint spent much of the morning watching specials on TV. Clint helped him to make real hot chocolate on the stove, alternating between dropping bits of chocolate into the heated milk, and popping them into his own mouth to munch on. Even if by holding them in his little fists, they began to melt and get all over everything.

When darkness finally fell, and snowflakes made a valiant attempt at fluttering to the ground, Phil bundled Clint up, safe and warm in the new coat he’d gotten him, and took him out for a Christmas Eve walk. It was something Phil did every year he was able to. Something that followed him from his own childhood days. While the lights that were twinkling off the brownstones and small row houses would have been prettier in a fresh, thick layer of sparkling snow, they were still beautiful and had Clint staring at them in wonder and awe for minutes on end at each house.

Phil walked them down one block, then another, pausing at each house so Clint could soak the colors and scenes in. The way his eyes changed to match the lights was something Phil would never grow tired of seeing.

Snow continued to swirl around them when Clint turned and tugged Phil’s sleeve, his little arms extended up, wanting to be carried. Phil couldn’t say no, even if he tried.

They made a few more trips around the blocks before returning home. Clint was drifting fast in Phil’s arms as he worked to get him out of his coat and shoes, change his little jeans and hoodie for the pajamas, and get him settled into bed. It wasn’t long at all before Clint was deep asleep, giving Phil plenty of time to wrap presents, put them under the tree, and even drink the milk and take a few bites from the cookies that had been left out.

Even if Clint didn’t remember this at all after he changed back, even if he never _did_ change back, Phil wanted to make this Christmas special for him. It’s what he did every year since they’d started working together. Make Christmas as special as possible.

Which when morning finally arrived, and Phil got to lead Clint out to the living room, and showed him the presents waiting for him, the heavy stocking hanging off the windowsill next to the tree, and saw the way Clint’s whole face lit up, he knew he’d done it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Avengers Tower, while closed to the public for the day, all employees of Stark Industries given a few days off to spend time with their families, was packed with people on the upper levels where the Avengers themselves generally resided. The place was decked out in all the brightest, shiniest, obnoxious decorations Tony could find (including the decorations that held their likenesses or at least some symbol of them).

It was warm.

It was bright.

It was cheery.

And it was LOUD.

Clint, having gotten presents for both his current age and his normal age, surrounded by wrapping paper and gifts, frowned and covered his ears to try and block out all the noise. Shiny metallic colored bows were stuck to his head, courtesy of Tony Stark, and he really looked none too pleased about it.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, some more than they probably should have been. Phil had sneakily snapped off a few pictures on his phone, before leaving Clint to go and get them some plates of food. Even to his own ears, things seemed too loud and noisy. He could tell it was wearing on Clint, the tiny frown and creases between his eyes signaling that he was getting more and more upset about things. They would stay for a little while longer, Phil decided, have some food, and then they’d leave.

The others would understand.

With one plate stacked high with food – enough for him and Clint to share off of – and two glasses of water in hand, Phil turned back to start off for the living room and froze when he saw half a dozen people he didn’t recognize all crowded around Clint, cooing over how adorable he was. They were probably friends of Tony’s or Pepper’s, but still. Clint was making it clear he didn’t want them around him and they were laughing it off as “absolute preciousness.”

Straightening his shoulders, Phil strolled up to the cluster and bustled his way through them, not so much as even uttering an “excuse me.”

“Clint, are you okay?” He asked, carefully setting the plate down next to Clint before setting the waters down.

Clint scrambled to his feet and rushed for Phil. His face smashed into Phil’s neck as he clung to him.

The women all cooed at the sight.

“He’s just so _precious!_ ” A blond clamored, her hands pressed to her chest.

Another squatted down beside Phil and reached out, catching Clint’s one partially exposed cheek between her fingers to give it a pinch and pull. “He’s an absolute _doll_! I could just pinch his cheeks all ni—“

“I’d rather you didn’t,” snarled Phil, his face stern and eyes cold as he switched Clint over to his other side and moved to stand.

The women who had all gathered around each took a step or two back. All with varying degrees of shock and disgust on their faces.

A woman to Phil’s left swayed on her feet, just enough to prove that she’d already hit Stark’s ‘special eggnog’ a little too hard. “We were just trying to pay you and your son a compl—“

Phil turned his head quickly, cutting her off mid-sentence. “He’s _not_ my _son_.”

“Well then why do you care if we’re—“

“Because he’s my —“ Phil caught himself, lips pressed tight together as ground his teeth and shook his head.

Abandoning the plate of food and the waters, he carried Clint out and away from the clucking group of drunken hens. Phil turned his head, brushing a light kiss across Clint’s hair as they moved to a semi-secluded area to sit.

“Oh Clint,” He sighed, shaking his head and just holding him close. “This wasn’t a very good idea.”

Clint’s hold on his shirt loosened as Clint settled into his lap. His head resting just over Phil’s heart and blue-green eyes keeping watch over the rest of the room. Strangers were a no-no. Phil should have figured that out after their shopping excursion. Should have known that after all the times Clint would stiffen and tense for just a fraction of a second when having to be in a group of people he didn’t know before slipping into his age old smug, smarky persona.

“Coulson!”

Phil and Clint both startled at the sudden shout. Clint scrambling to hide behind Phil, a quiet whimper escaping him as Tony came strutting towards them. It was clear that Banner had been doing a decent enough job of keeping Tony from getting completely smashed, but Tony had obviously snuck a few spiked sips throughout the night. Just enough to make him that little bit extra loud and boisterous.

“C’mon Coulson, stop hoggin’ Valiant.” Tony waved the hand his drink was in towards where Clint was hiding. “Other people want a chance to spoil the kid, too, ya know.”

Carefully, Phil reached behind him, his hand gently grasping Clint’s shirt though his eyes never left Tony. “He’s not a real big fan of strangers, Stark.”

“So? If you’d let us play with him, we wouldn’t be! C’mon! Didn’t your mother ever teach you to share?” Tony took three more steps forward and to the side, trying to see behind Phil at the cowering Clint. “Think of Ca – Ya know, Captain America is _right_ over there, and he’d be _very_ disappointed if the president of his creepy-creepers fanclub didn’t want to share his toys with the other kids.”

A low, frustrated grumble coiled at the back of Phil’s throat as he twisted himself around to keep Clint behind him. “Clint is _not_ a toy, Stark. He is a member of this team, and he –“

“And he’s currently wearing Huggies and light-up sneakers. Come _on_ , Coulson! Give it up. Let the others have a turn with him.”

Tony ducked and dodged, finally getting around Phil to catch Clint by the shoulder and give him a little tug. “Aren’t you getting tired of babysitting Baby Huey? Wouldn’t you rather get back on with your life and not have to cart him with you everywhere? Just leave him here. There’s plenty of us who can look after him and have fun with him. God knows you gotta be boring him to tears, by now.” Tony huffed a laugh and tugged on Clint’s shoulder, pulling him out from behind his hiding place.

“Right, Plucky Duck? Wouldn’t you rather stay here with us fun-guys-n-gals than with—“

Before Phil could even consider stopping him – which in all honesty, he probably wouldn’t have, anyway – Clint spun on Tony, fire crackling in his eyes. With a force only a toddler could possess, Clint’s foot connected with Tony’s shin.

“NO!” The tiny voiced scream echoed off the cold walls as Clint tore his shirt out of Tony’s grasp. “Puck you! Not yours, ‘ittle puck!”

Stunned silence filled the air as Clint scrambled back to the safety of Phil’s arms and lap. For the first time in a just over a week, Clint finally spoke, and the words were loud and angry. Words that couldn’t have come from nowhere. Clint had heard them before, certainly not from Phil, which meant his urge to go back in time and see how Harold liked being used for a punching bag just grew exponentially.

Clint sniffled and snuffled in Phil’s arms, keeping his face hidden in Phil’s chest as he clung to him for dear life. Phil thought he could just make out the quiet pleads of “no go,” and “stay” that Clint whimpered out against him.

Finally after a moment of no one so much as even moving, people turned their attention back to those around them, whispering and chuckling under their breaths.

Anger and frustration bubbled just under Phil’s skin as he held Clint tighter and moved to stand again. This was definitely a bad idea.

Without a word to Tony, Phil shoved past him and made his way to the door, Clint still snuffling in his arms gently.

“Pepper,” Phil murmured, pulling his own coat on carefully before getting Clint into his own, “I’ll be back later to collect the gifts. If you could just –“

Pepper waved a hand, silencing him before he could even finish the thought. “Don’t worry about it, Phil. Rhodey and I will bring them over tomorrow morning.”

Phil cast an appreciative smile her way, turned, and left.

~*~*~*~*~

All the lights were off in the apartment, save for the tree lights, their blue-purple glow drifting in through the cracks above and below the bedroom door as Phil lay on the bed holding Clint close. He ran his fingers through Clint’s thick, soft hair, and smoothed down his back in slowly, soothing circles.

“It’s okay, Clint,” He murmured, pressing his lips to Clint’s head gently. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

Clint snuggled in closer, burying his nose in the body of his stuffed animal.

Phil smiled softly, his hand still working circles into Clint’s back. “I’m going to take care of you, because that’s what I’ve always done. For a lot of years now, I’ve taken care of you. We’ve gone through a lot together, you and I.”

Memories of years past drifted through Phil’s mind as he stared off at the nightstand opposite him. The picture framed and sitting there. Grown Clint’s brightly smiling face staring back out at him.

“I know you,” Phil whispered into Clint’s hair. “I know you when you’re all grown up. You grow up to be one of the bravest, most intelligent, and compassionate men I know. You don’t like to let on that you are, but I know you. Despite how your childhood turned out, you’re a wonderful man. And your sense of humor is just so – “ he paused, huffing a soft laugh to himself as he shook his head, “Your sense of humor is kind of messed up, but you always knew how to make me smile.”

Beside him, Clint shifted and squirmed and Phil wondered if he was still awake or not. Phil laid quiet for a moment just in case, then started to whisper to him again, hands still carding through hair and down his back.

“When I first met you, you were barely even twenty and God, I thought you were such a little jac—jerk. Your attitude was terrible, you scowled at everybody, wouldn’t follow orders, but you proved yourself. You saved my life more times than I can count, and I don’t know how many times I’ve had to put you back together again after missions.” Phil’s lips brushed across Clint’s forehead lightly before he settled his cheek atop Clint’s head gently. “You became my best friend, Clint. Without even realizing it. We lived out of each other’s back pockets for so many years, I didn’t even bat an eye when you started showing up at my door with a case of beer and cold pizza because you’d walked here. There wasn’t even a defining moment to us falling in love…”

A lump formed in Phil’s throat, choking him up and making it hard to swallow. He had to blink his eyes passed the tears clinging to his lashes.

“…it just happened. Just woke up one day last year and realized we’d been living together for years already. And it never seemed odd or out of place.”

Phil watched as the clock next to the picture ticked to midnight, silently ushering in December 26th. Swallowing thickly, he turned to bury his nose in Clint’s hair, his grey eyes closed to block out the world.

As the world began to fade around him, Phil’s hold tightened on Clint’s little sleeping body all the more.

“…happy first anniversary…” Phil murmured, finally allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~

There were two things Phil was consciously aware of the next morning when he started to wake up. First, that the sun was shining directly in his eyes. Second, he was being used as a human pillow, pinned to the bed from the shoulders to his ankles. It wasn’t an uncomfortable weight holding him down, in fact, it was almost familiar. Heavier than a three-year-old should be. Much, much heavier.

“Stop fakin’ it…I know you’re awake.”

Phil’s eyes flew open, the most beautiful and wonderful sight in the world greeting him.

Whole and grown and perfect in every way. From the dopey grin on his face, all the way down to his skinny ankles.

A sharp laugh of surprise escaped Phil as he threw his arms around Clint’s broad, strong – and very naked – shoulders. He hugged him close, this time it was Phil’s turn to press his face into the crook of Clint’s neck and just cling to him for dear life.

“If this is a dream,” Phil murmured, turning his head to start pressing kisses across any bare skin – and there was quite a bit of it! – he could reach, “I don’t ever want to wake up again. Ever.”

Clint’s strong arms kept him braced above Phil, so he didn’t squish him to death, and he laughed, shaking his head. “If it’s a dream, and you didn’t wake up, I’d be a pretty damn traumatized three-year-old.”

Phil groaned, dropping his head back against the pillows. He stared up into those blue mosaic eyes and let himself get lost in them for a moment, hand cupping Clint’s cheek. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. Not like this, at least.”

“Yeah, well,” Clint shifted, laying himself down beside Phil and letting his own hand come to rest over Phil’s heart. “Even if I hadn’t grown up again, you would have kept me around.”

A knowing twinkle sparkled in Clint’s eye as he smirked across the pillow at him.

“Oh you think?” Phil smirked right back, one brow raised carefully.

“Oh,” Clint inched closer, his eyes darkening as his hand came to rest on Phil’s stomach. “I know for a fact you would have kept me. Told Natasha if I didn’t grow up, you’d retire to take care of me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clint laughed, pouncing at Phil again and pinning him to the bed. “I remember you taking care of me, Phil. And I remember kicking Tony and calling him a ‘little fuck.’”

“Actually, it was ‘Puck’,”

“Pretty sure everyone knew exactly what I meant.”

Clint dipped his head down, capturing Phil’s mouth in a firm, possessive kiss. Phil barely had time to savor the feeling of Clint’s lips on his again, so warm and soft and perfect, before Clint was dotting kisses repeatedly across Phil’s neck, shoulders, back up to his cheek, and across his face, just to make Phil laugh. Each kiss interspersed with a chant of “I love you.”

Breathless from the kisses, and from laughing, Phil relaxed back into the bed and just grinned up at Clint. He didn’t move as Clint settled himself up on Phil’s lap, Clint’s hands on Phil’s chest, while Phil’s hands rubbed up and down Clint’s thighs gently. They stared at each other silently for a long moment, unspoken communication between them, before Clint dove back down for another quick kiss, murmuring into Phil’s lips, “ _Now_ can we at least _talk_ about that adoption you keep avoiding like the plague?”

Groaning again, Phil’s hands clenched around Clint’s hips. “You’re grown for the first time in eight days, and you want to bring that up, _now_?”

Clint laughed as he slid down Phil’s body, tugging his shirt up slowly to kiss at his chest and stomach. “Suppose not,” He paused, flicking his tongue across a nipple just to hear Phil moan low in the back of his throat. “But once we finish our anniversary sex, I wanna.”

Warmth curled in the pit of Phil’s stomach, replacing the old heavy, cold weight that’d been there before. Pulling Clint back up for a kiss, Phil let his hands trail down Clint’s back – He’d worry about what happened to the clothes Clint had been dressed in when he fell asleep – and settle low.

“God, I’ve missed you,” He murmured.

“I love you, Phil.”

“I love you, too, Clint.”

~*~*~*~*~

**After Credits Scene**

_Two years later…_

Squeals of laughter filled the air, drifting out from the kitchen. The apartment that once belonged to Clint and Phil replaced with Avengers Tower, at long last. It hadn’t exactly been Phil’s idea, but so far, he didn’t entirely regret the decision to move. Gene Autry’s unique twist on “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” bringing warmth to the brightly decorated living room. Some of the decorations were sleek and modern looking – house warming gifts from Tony when they finally moved in – but the rest were old hand-me-downs and things from Phil’s childhood, or ones made by Clint and done by obviously little hands. The paper chain of red and green had grown in the last two years, now long enough to drape across the ceiling of their living room. The tree, carefully decorated in ornaments from around the world and commemorating milestones of the past few years, sat in the corner, its lights twinkling brightly.

Phil and Clint’s wedding picture (first and second wedding pictures, because when the others found out they’d been married and never told anyone, they were forced to hold a second one) sat framed on the mantel, alongside pictures of their family and friends. Their apartment was warm, and bright, and filled with love and plenty of laughter.

Another bout of squealed giggled rang out as a tiny, little red-headed boy of about three, went racing out of the kitchen. Covered from head to toe in flour, his arms were heavy with stolen Christmas cookies as he giggled and ran through the living room, Phil and Clint hot on his heels.

“This is all your fault!” Clint exclaimed, still trying to get frosting off his forehead and not trip over anything as he chased after the little boy.

Phil rolled his eyes and forced back an amused smile as he pushed Clint along, trying to catch the little one before he could stuff the cookies into some great hiding place. “Right. Of course it is. It was your idea!”

“Besides the point! Totally besides the point!”

Their voices drifted through the apartment, fading softly as they hurried down the hall.

Outside the window, snow fell softly, coating the world in a blanket of white, just in time for Christmas. Beside the tree, the fire crackled and pop in the fireplace. Stocking hung carefully from the mantel, each baring a beautiful design embroidered in, and each with a name across the top.

One for Phil.

One for Clint.

One for their son, Charles-James.

 

 

The End.

 


End file.
